The Engagement's Over
by Girlwitharedsweater
Summary: Sherlock and Molly both find themselves in need of comfort after John and Mary's wedding. A ring that refuses to come off, 3am text messages, she's drunk and he's high. The stars must be aligned tonight. /drug use and sexual themes/
1. Chapter 1

**Hey there guys, I got a request for Sherlolly, and I happily obliged, I've never written smut before but I was interested in doing more mature writing.**

**Obviously I do not own BBC Sherlock, if I did I wouldn't be writing Fan Fic would I? **

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

It was half past twelve before Molly Hooper and her fiance Tom arrived at her modest London flat, dressed still in their formal wedding clothes from John and Mary's wedding. But instead of an excited, happy atmosphere expected from a engaged couple that just left a happy wedding (despite the near murder of course)

Molly kicked her shoes off at the door, leaving them in the door way, while Tom tripped over them and stumbled up the flat's steps after Molly who seemed to be in a hurry to get inside. She pulled hair strawberry blonde hair out of its tight bun and her hair spilled loosely over her shoulders, Tom tugged off his tie but left his shoes on all the while giving Molly a angry look, he slammed his tie down on her kitchen table.

Molly didn't look at him, she faced the entrance to her living room, her arms folded across her chest. He clenched his teeth together, his breathing starting to be heavy, he seemed to be debating what he should say next. 'Molly' he started, but what interrupted by a quiet, sudden reply from her:

"no"

He looked at her bemused, "what?"

"I said _no_!"She yelled, now spinning around to face him her face flushed red with anger, "I just said no!" Her hands began to shake, perhaps she had drunk too much champagne tonight. 'I am so tired of you speaking so just please, just don't'. Tom swallowed hard, he himself perhaps drunk too much tonight, 'Oh you're tired of me? Because I embarrassed you during the speech?' Molly didn't say anything, just furiously pressed her lips together.

"Yeah I got the message pretty clear when you stabbed me with a fucking fork." Molly made a small smile at these words.

"Oh you are being such a bitch, Molly!"

"You shouldn't of been coming up with the most ridiculous theories, I did you a favor"

"Yes thank you so much, sweetheart" Tom hissed.

Molly turned on her heel and walked away into the lounge room. Tom followed her and continued to yell, "Molly I'm not going to ignore the elephant in the room, we both know what's really going on" Molly stopped her tracks, she became acutely aware of her rising heartbeat, 'Yeah that's right' Tom Snarled, 'You think I haven't noticed the way you look at him?'

"I don't know what on earth you're talking about-" Molly asked attempting to sound innocent.

"Don't act stupid, I've seen the way you look at that detective Sherlock! Hanging on to every word he says, you never shut up about him, and that your face lights up whenever he enters the room-" His voice broke up unable to finish the sentence, and he swallowed hard again but his anger was starting to be replaced. Molly's body began to un tense itself as she saw Tom trying to hide the fact that tears had started to well up in his eyes. Molly knew there wasn't any much more to this angry pretense, and she met his wet gaze her own tears starting to well up and she spoke to him very quietly:

"I'm sorry"

Tom swore, "I guess this is it then?" he asked her.

"Yes, I think so, I'm _so_ sorry" She started to cry, Tom started to yell again and paced backward and forwards frantically around her living room. Molly just stood there and listened to him yell out obscurities, feeling that at least she owed him that much.

Tom then swooped over to her and pushed her into a frantic, clumsy kiss, but Molly pushed him away 'No, I'm sorry' she cried out, Tom pulled her left hand up to his face and kissed her ring finger on which nested their sparkly engagement ring. "Please Molly" he begged, "please let us work this out" Molly shook her head still crying.

Tom still looking at her, let go of her hand, disbelief clear on his face. Molly then tried to pull the ring off, but to her shock she found that she couldn't. 'you've got to be kidding me' she muttered. The air quickly became awkward as Molly struggled very hard to pull off the ring.

"Maybe you could run it under the tap or something?" He quietly suggested.

"Oh you know what" Molly snapped out after several failed attempts to tug off the ring. "Just forget about it, I'll mail it to you first thing in the morning"

"right yeah" Tom swayed awkwardly for a minute, 'so I guess I'll just be off then' he says slowly as he starts to make his way out of the room and ascend down the stairs.

Molly let out a sigh, secretly relived and privately glad that she had managed to avoid a massive argument that she knew was a long time coming. But with no such luck, Tom spun around angry again, and began to shout and argue.

Molly and Tom argued late into the night.

* * *

Sherlock's violin was slightly out of tune, making the fine notes he spun out have a slight unpleasant twing to them which he thought suited his mood perfectly. He glided the bow over the strings under the command of his fingertips, he played a slow, sweet but mournful tune. It's sound drifted lonely through 221b Baker street, almost unheard down stairs and in Mrs Hudson the landlady's headquarters.

Sherlock had heard her knock shortly after she arrived about midnight, but he paid her no attention as he laid down still and as pale as a corpse on his couch. Sherlock listened to sound of Mrs Hudson's clumsy foot work stumbling down the stairs, Mrs Hudson did tend to over drink at social gatherings. But she could of kicked down the door and threw it out of the window and he still would not of opened his eyelids, because for the first time in a very, very long time.

Sherlock Holmes was high.

With the most interesting cases solved, John and Mary starting their new lives without him, he no longer had the distraction and the rush of the game, the thrill of the chase that keep him oh so occupied away from the needle was now gone. Giving him that sudden pull of an artificial rush of adrenaline that he sickeningly missed so much, he exhaled, his heart pumping fast.

As soon as he left John and Mary's wedding reception that night he headed down to the side of London he often found himself in to recruit more for his homeless network, but this time his legs knew what he was doing before he did. As he twist and turned down the familiar gratified, littered streets. He exchanged the money he had in his coat for what he required, he didn't go inside, Sherlock felt that this stage in his new case it was too soon to go into the house.

But even now as he laid still on the couch, pensive and planning his next move, he could not escape the wistfulness he felt towards the events that had transpired. Being called John Watson's best friend was undoubtedly an unexpected honor that Sherlock could not fully comprehend, for who in their sane mind would ever brave him for a best friend. 'well' he mused, John Watson would, an ex Army Doctor who loved the thrill of the chase as much as Sherlock did.

_'But unlike you Sherlock, John Watson is not a complete and utter idiot when it comes to interacting with other humans'_

Sherlock's stormy eyes flew open, the voice of his older brother Mycroft rung unwelcomed through his mind. He wanted to escape from him not submerge his mind into his constant put downs and nagging advice that was scarcely concealed behind the pretense of friendly and well meaning brotherly advice. 'I am the smart one' Mycroft growled at him lowly, scolding Sherlock for attempting to think any differently. Sherlock shook his head, trying to shake his voice out. He found it difficult to enter his mind palace whilst high.

_'You... you told me once that you weren't a hero._ _Umm, there were times I didn't even think you were human. But let me tell you this, you were the best man, the most human...'_ John Watson's shaky voice started drift in through the fog that surrounded his mind. His voice was much more welcoming but Sherlock still didn't want to hear it, he didn't want to hear anything good about himself especially not when his needle was visible underneath John's chair.

_John's Chair._

Well it wasn't John's chair anymore now was it? The next thing Sherlock knew he was pulling John's chair down the hall and into his room, he pulled it into the corner of his bedroom, it fit perfectly well in the interior of his room but it just felt so...wrong. Sherlock groaned and collapsed down on to his bed, he glanced at his alarm sitting on his bedside table.

2:27 AM

Sherlock sunk his head further back into his pillow his dark curls framing his angular face as they were pulled closer in. _'But you were right. I'm not okay.'_ Sherlock's eyes once again flew open, now that was different, he certainly was not expecting his own voice to come floating back to him. He remembered when he spoke those words to his friend Molly Hooper the pathologist, in Bart's lab, he remembered the sharp intake of breath he took and the spike of fear that stabbed him in his chest with every breath he took and the words he said to her.

_'What do you need?'_ she had said, unyielding, and determined to help him. The sweet, mousy woman had said, for the first time in a while not stuttering and now spoke with network, (at least with less help from Mycroft) What Sherlock could not figure out was on earth Molly Hooper even gave him the time of day.

After all the things had said to her 'such awful things, all the time' she still stood un swaying by his side being a good and kind friend unafraid to tell him so when he got out of line. That's what he like about Molly Hooper, she was unassuming and unexpected, it got boring quickly when he knew everything that there was to know about someone. But with Molly it was just a little change in her personality, or appearance that just gave her that edge for Sherlock that others just did not seem to achieve.

She had long medium brown hair that was well looked after and she often played with her parting, he at first thought she did what a lot of people did when their hair styles drastically changed through a quick period of time, they tended to be unsatisfied with their appearance, often going through changing or challenging periods of time. But one day many years Sherlock had mention to her in passing as a sort of sweet talk (exploiting her for favors obviously) in when he pointed out her new part in hair, that he liked. Only after the brief encounter did he wonder why he even noticed something so miniscule like that, and brushed it into a dusty old file in his mind palace.

What had always irked him about Molly was how bloody cheerful and optimistic she always seemed to be, annoyed, however she was un yielding when Sherlock would cut down her chirpy remarks_. 'ah sweet Molly' _Sherlock thought to himself, rubbing his temples, she was one of those people like John Watson, just a genuine good person. Molly, he concluded was unassuming and pure intentioned.

It was nearly 2:30 am and Molly was a little drunk.

She had opened at bottle of wine and had been drinking since Tom left a half an hour ago, after her screaming at him that the neighbors did not want to, nor have to listen to him acting like a pectiulant child. Tom had slammed the door to her flat and called a taxi home with her promise of giving the ring back as soon as she could. She was waiting for the hot feeling of dread and regret to bubble in her stomach, but nothing came. Just a sense of relief and lightness that came with having a huge burden lifted off her shoulders. She knew that she hadn't been happy in a while, everything seemed okay when she and Tom starting going out and she was thrilled when he proposed over a Chinese dinner at his flat,but she always felt like something was missing.

And when that something missing returned, she found herself unsatisfied with what she had found. What she had found...well there was nothing wrong with what she had found, in fact what she had found was in fact rather lovely, and he treated her nicely and got along with her friends and her Mother. Her cat Toby curled around her ankles, purring as she slumped in her armchair. She sure did feel stupid, she remember the heat flaring up in her cheeks the moment Tom mentioned Sherlock, absolutely humiliated that she was that transparent. She wasn't an un smart woman for goodness sakes, she still kicked herself over her stammering over Sherlock Holmes, while he shows no apparent interest in her and she didn't even know if she wanted him to see her in that way.

The way she saw it, she liked Sherlock for who he was, well who he was deep down inside. Which was in reality a very compassionate man who cared a lot but was so afraid of rejection because he was different he kept all his compassionate feelings under his asshole tendencies. Not that she ever though that he wasn't one, oh no no, Sherlock Holmes was most defiantly an arse. But she liked Sherlock because he was just so different, and so was she, and Sherlock never used that against her in fact that is what perhaps made them such good friends because they were both different and outcast to others. Sherlock provided a good sense of escapism from her mundane world of going to the local pub with her friends, gossiping over celebrity news or heaven forbid who was pregnant or getting married.

It wasn't because he was a handsome man that fit the forbidden fruit role, (although that was a pleasant bonus) No it was because Sherlock threw himself into the grit and game of the streets, which the results of she often saw in her moruge. He emerged himself in the thrill of the chase, and the captivation of a good mystery and Molly Just found her self amongst the whirlwind of it all, and she now could admit it to herself, she loved it, she loved the thrill, she loved the mystery, she loved him.

Molly groaned into her hands feeling stupid she took large sip of her drink, when her phone lit up pelting out a chirpy tune. She picked it up, surprised that anyone would text her at this hour. When her Dad was ending his days, her phone would light up and ring all through out the night to answer his confused calls. Sometimes Sherlock would ask a strange case related quest, but never tended to elaborate on them, she looked at the screen, it was Sherlock:

_Molly -SH_

Molly blinked, now she was just to vague texts from Sherlock, such as _'crop' 'beaker'_ or _'2nd post'_ but just her name wasn't something she was used to. She then remember another thing that had been bothering her throughout the night: Sherlock leaving the reception early, no one else noticed him leave and she wanted nothing more than chase after him and leave with him.

_What do you need? -MH_

Molly supposed she wouldn't mind helping Sherlock with a case to distract him, or her for that matter as she clearly wasn't going to be sleeping at any time soon. Molly had no less just put down her phone when it lit up again with Sherlock's reply:

You-SH

Another cryptically short text, oh she wished that sometimes Sherlock was like other men in this department, if that was any other man texting her like that at this time of the night it would be an obvious 'booty call' but alas Sherlock was not like other men. Before she typed out her reply he had already sent another message:

In taxi. On my way. 5 mins-SH

He was coming here? She sat up quickly- too quickly, the room span around her. There was some evidence of an unhappy dispute that had happened in her flat, she could try to tidy it up so Sherlock wouldn't say anything, but honestly at this point she was too tired of fighting, shrugged it off and went to the bathroom to at least brush her teeth.

Sherlock was frigid in his seat, paying no mind to the taxi driver's questioning stare as Sherlock tapped his long fingers impatiently on the door handle. 'Molly knows what to do' Sherlock was thinking to himself, 'Molly is good with this sort of thing' This sort of thing being martial domestication, which Sherlock convinced himself was the reason why he was going to Molly's. She was always talking about a friend who was getting married or pregnant, I mean she was engaged for goodness sakes.

Right.

She was engaged, How did Sherlock forget about that one? Sherlock ignored the deflated balloon that shrunk in his stomach, Molly was getting married to that Tim person- the one that dressed suspiciously like him, he added as a smug after thought. Smug? He wasn't smug...

He was nervous though, now that he had arrived he was unsure why he had truly decided to come here in the first place, what if her fiancee was here? Should he turn around and get back the cab and go back to Baker Street? But when he did he saw the taxi drive away into the night. So he might as well go in and talk to her.

He walked up to her front door, he outstretched his arm but let his hand hover the wood. It suddenly occurred to him, if he was anything other man and she was anything Woman what would this scene look like to an outsider's perceptive. Deducing it from another perspective: High man, single, nearly 3 am outside a female's flat after a wedding, it must be because he is high after all, but he was really looking forward to seeing her again tonight.

He knocked on her door.

**Yeah? Nay? I rather like this pairing and I really am trying my hardest to keep them in character, because they are all such great characters! **

**I feel like this is rated 'M' for its next chapter which will be up very soon, I hope you enjoyed. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the wait, this took much longer than I expected, I should warn you, this is the most 'smutty' thing I have ever written, 'M' rating comes into effect this chapter. **

**Thank you for the lovely reviews they encourage me to keep writing. **

* * *

_Knock, Knock_

Molly had just finish rinsing out her mouth with water when she heard Sherlock knocks on the door, the night was going so fast she needed to take a deep breath before she answered the door. She opened her door and despite everything smiled when she saw the button nosed, stormy eyed detective. Sherlock's breath caught in his throat and for a moment the whole world around him faded grey and the only thing in colour was Molly Hooper. His keen eyes drank in every detail of her appearance, he could see her shadowy figure under the dim cast of the street lights.

_Hair let down_

_pink nose_

_Same clothes_

_ watery eyes_

_Ring finger agitated_

She and Trey had definitely had a couple dispute tonight, however the ring was still on her finger and with sinking feeling Sherlock concluded that they were still together. "Morning Molly" Sherlock greeted attempting a cheery greeting "Terribly grateful you are available at such an hour"

Molly gave him a exasperated look, "always a pleasure Sherlock, would you like to come inside? It's bit chilly out"

"Right of course" Sherlock followed her back into the flat, when he entered the kitchen his eyes scanned the room and found obvious signs of an argument.

_ Broken glass in sink _

_ tie thrown_

_ kitchen table_

_shoes kicked off_

And an opened bottle of wine that sat on the coffee table in Molly's living room, a wine glass next to it, that still had her lipstick lip print on the rim, L'Oreal No 8 shade baby powder...to be precise.

Her grey tom cat Toby lay sleeping on the armchair that Molly had previously been drinking in.

Sherlock found himself standing her lounge room with no idea what to say his motivation was, Molly gave him a questioning look, she was drunk, he judged by the slight swaying she was doing as she stood there expectantly, well not drunk but a fair tipsy.

"Would you like a drink?" She offered giving a lazy gesture to the alcohol. "I uh, yes please" he stammered, grateful for the chance to kept thinking of what to have an excuse.

As an excuse for what exactly?

Sherlock surprised himself by drinking his glass in one go, he gave an involuntary shudder, he had never mixed alcohol with heroin before and putting a simulate and a depressant together would surely would put his brain/central nervous system under great pressure.

Molly raised her eyebrow, giving him a slight questioning look, she took a few steps towards him. Her white bra strap falling down from her shoulder that she didn't seem to notice, she was still wearing her yellow dress that she wore to John and Mary's wedding and the tights that went with it.

Molly was about to speak aloud when Sherlock again surprised himself.

"Mary's pregnant" He blurted out, Sherlock only momentarily looked over at Molly to see her shocked expression.

"What really, are you serious?" She spluttered out.

"Yes" Sherlock replied sitting down his glass and placing his hands together behind his back, he watched her carefully as she poured herself another glass and took a large gulp and turned back to him.

"How far along is she do you know?"

He straightened out his posture, "about five weeks I'd say"

Molly nodded, "I'm happy for them, I really am"

"You don't seem happy" he told her

"Well I am...happy...for them..." her sour sentence was a little slurred.

"Ah yes, you and Trey-"

"Tom" Molly corrected,

"Right, him" Sherlock paused, and weighed his next question heavily: "Are you two unhappy?"

Of course he knew the answer already.

"Well...we...well...no actually" She rubbed her forehead, stressed, "We broke up" Molly's voice trembled and broke, she avoided Sherlock's eyes as she turned her head aside, hot tears brimming.

"Molly" Sherlock said, his face passive, his tone soft. He reached his hand down onto her shoulder and gently pulled the loose strap up. Molly blushed, "Sorry" she mumbled, heat rising to her cheeks.

The unexpected touch stirred a warmth her lower belly.

"Do you think that John and Mary wouldn't have time for you anymore now that there's going to be a baby?" Sherlock's hand was still on her shoulder, they both stayed put where they were.

"They don't need another big baby now do they?" His hand drifted down her arm.

"I wouldn't think of it that way, because Sherlock, they care for you very much" Molly laced her fingers between Sherlock's and gave his hand a quick squeeze. Maybe a bold move on her behalf but even Sherlock Holmes needed some reassurance sometimes via psychical touch sometimes.

Molly sighed, "I guess there is always hope for even the most undesirable of us all"

"Molly" Sherlock spoke, his baritone voice low, "You should practice what you preach, you shouldn't be thinking poorly of yourself either, you have great qualities in a partner that any man would be thrilled to have in their life, and any sane man would realize what is in front of him this whole time." Privately Molly thought that was rather cliche but perhaps coming from Sherlock it had some authenticity to it.

Sherlock leaned in and as always with his kisses on the cheek she looked down and turned her head to the side.

But Sherlock did not kiss on her cheek.

But planted one straight on to her mouth.

Molly froze, she was most defiantly not expecting that.

Her mind started racing, what was going on? Did this mean something? And how much had he drunk tonight? All these questions sprinted through her head, but her mind impaired and sluggish from drinking could find no answers. Her body it so turned out had a mind of it's own, as she found herself pulling Sherlock in closer. Molly twined her fingers into Sherlock's curls as she pulled him down to her with such enthusiasm that Sherlock almost trampled forwards and over her.

They pulled apart, Molly face flushed and she was pleased to see that Sherlock's cheeks were pink just the same. It gave her a powerful sense of satisfaction Sherlock Holmes who was usually so composed so flustered and breathing heavily, because of her. She shot him an embarrassed smile, not quite sure what she would say next.

His heart was banging against his ribcage and was threatening to burst of his body, he couldn't fathom what he just did. All he was doing was attempting to give Molly some words of advice and then leave with a quick peck on the cheek and that was all he intended to do but all he could see was her pink lips looking so inviting.

And then the next thing he knew his lips were pressed against hers and her fingers were tangled in his hair she pulled just...the right way. He was thrilled to find that she responded so enthusiastically, she pressed her body hard against him so that he could feel almost every curve that was Molly Hooper against him.

When they parted he started to form quick ideas of self doubt, that were quickly exhausted by Molly's sweet reassuring smile. Heat from his very being started to rise, and that it seems to be all that it took for Sherlock to attack her mouth again.

His lips on hers, his hands roaming down to the small of her back. Her hips crushed into his with an equal amount of passion. Sherlock's heart was continuing to beat it's way through his chest, nerves and adrenaline surging through his veins merging with the drugs and alcohol.

Molly felt Sherlock's thumping chest against her own, "Are you alright?" She asked pulling away from him.

"Oh yes, I'm fine" He replied brushing off her concern with an eye roll and another attempt to take her lips with his again. Molly's worry started to ebb away as they started to kiss more opened mouth now, she was kissing him the only way she knew how and she had never gotten complaints before, but Sherlock was different.

He was surprisingly.._.slow_ in his movements, as though he was still learning how to kiss someone, then it occurred to her that that may just be the case exactly, it wasn't as though Sherlock ever dated, let alone have sex.

Wait had Sherlock_ ever_ had sex?

Sherlock's lips were now at her neck, kissing the same way he did at her mouth, Molly let out a small groan as she felt Sherlock's small smirk against her neck. It was starting to become very clear to her that Sherlock wasn't rather experienced when it came to the opposite sex, but knew just want to do.

Molly supposed that even Sherlock Holmes succumbed to the horrid, wistful and loneliness that all single people inevitably feel after after happy weddings. She wasn't complaining though, Molly just thought that maybe he just wasn't thinking things through.

He wasn't the only thing making her head spin.

And she wasn't the only thing clouding his mind.

She was drunk

And she didn't know he was high.

* * *

Sherlock's deducing skills were a joke whenever he wasn't sober and under the influence but as he held Molly's face in his hands and worked at her neck he could tell that she was enjoying herself, and admittedly he was very much so himself.

Though he admitted to himself he really didn't know much of what he was doing, there is only so much you learn from movies, clients or anatomy charts. Because Sherlock never had first hand experience before, but he was certainly enjoying the first hand work that he was doing now.

His body wanted to go fast and vigorously but his mind was still determined to slug along and take everything in, learn more about the female anatomy that he couldn't learn from book and drink in every minuscule detail that was in it's very essence his favorite mousy faced pathologist.

Molly was wearing a small smirk that she wore when she found something arousing, most notably whenever he started using his whip in the lab. Sherlock wondered idly, if this was a fetish of Molly's but perhaps tonight was not the night to find out such things.

Molly started to walk backwards all the while not breaking their embrace, Sherlock kicked off his shoes.

Molly took off his scarf.

"Do you-" Molly said breathlessly, breaking apart from him again, "W-want to take this into my room?" She pressed her lips together in nervousness, she could not believe the direction that this night had taken.

Sherlock then suddenly pressed his body against hers and abruptly had her back against the wall next to her bedroom door. His palms flat against the wall, leaving Molly trapped in his own personal barricade, he look down to her, his eyes smouldering, Molly hands were still on his blue scarf mid untying. And gave her a devilish smirk, and in the deep feathery voice of his: "If you wish"

Molly used this appointing to use both ends of his scarf to bring Sherlock's face down to hers in another knee waking kiss.

That was something she had always secretly wanted to do.

He grabbed her around her narrow waist and spun her around so that her front was pressed against the wall.

His scarf fell to the ground.

Molly's right cheek laid flat against the wall and her hot, heavy breathing fogged the patch of wall her mouth rested by. Her palms flat against the wall this time, enjoying the sensations that were shooting down her body and the heat that was waving through her groin.

Sherlock placed his left hand on the wall too, right next hers, his long fingers were outstretch and his hands were large compared to hers, Molly liked Sherlock's hands, she enjoying watching him fiddle with various items between his fingers, he often twirled things in his hands, and found her mind wandering about what else those long pale fingers (now looking alabaster under the cool moonlight) would enjoy fiddling.

As on cue, Sherlock's right hand started to drifted down all over her body, every feathery touch setting every nerve on fire. His hands reached the back of her hips, and he dipped his hands underneath the curve of her bum, Molly gave a small shudder of pleasure when Sherlock started to use his thumb to gently massage her ass.

Sherlock found himself becoming fired up, and very much enjoying the moans and movements coming from Molly. His own body was responding in ways he was not used to letting happen, or even get this far. Sherlock got his middle finger and index finger together and slipped them up Molly's dress and began to rub them against her knickers.

Molly twitched against his fingers emitted a loud mewl.

He could feel the _heat_ and_ wetness_ that was coming from her nether region.

Molly was moaning and started to move herself against his fingers, he found it overwhelmingly erotic.

He could feel his pants starting to become uncomfortably tight.

Sherlock felt now that clothes were just becoming an unreasonable burden on both of them.

Molly's hands had twisted themselves into clawed up fists, her knuckles white, Sherlock saw Molly's engagement ring which had caught the moonlight and was sparkling bright, calling out to him, demanding to not be ignored.

Sherlock stopped rubbing her.

Molly, disappointed with the sudden lack of contact turned to look at him.

"What's wrong Sherlock?" She asked, her pupils dilated, neck flushed and her chest rising rapidly. Sherlock took Molly's left hand. "Why do you still have this on?" he asked quietly. Molly's expression quickly sallow ed and if her face wasn't already flushed she would of felt the heat rise to her face.

"I-" She squeaked, embarrassed that now that her fansasty was coming true she had already done something so embarrassing that it could jeopardize what could happen next.

"I-" She started again, Sherlock gave her an impatient look. "I...I...I CAN'T TAKE IT OFF, IT'S STUCK ALL RIGHT?" Molly suddenly yelled to a surprised looking Sherlock.

There was a shocked silence.

Then something happened that even after tonight Molly couldn't believe, Sherlock started to laugh.

At first it was a small chuckle, but then Molly had started to giggle.

And we all know how it is with friends, some times you find yourselves laughing hysterically even over the stupidest things.

This was one of those times.

"You can't-" Sherlock laughed.

"Nope" Molly bashfully giggled, "Told him I would send it to him first thing in the morning. " She made a downwards gesture with her hands.

The laughter slowly died down into a feeble trickle then died away.

* * *

Molly looked at the man who set her world ablaze.

This man, this strange, cruel, clever and most wonderful man was standing in front of her, his lips pink and his Cupid's bow slightly swollen by her urgent kisses.

Her desire to touch him, to feel his skin against hers, the desire to taste him, filled her every thought. And he was right there all she had to do was right out and take him. Her body had made it's mind up, and Molly took a step closer to him, her face straight and passive. She reached her left hand up and placed it on his sharp cheek, and creased her thumb along his cheekbone. Sherlock sighed into her touch, closed his eyes in content and leaned into her hand.

In that moment, everywhere else In the world was grey and they were the only ones in colour.

Sherlock found himself being dragged into her bedroom, he wasn't sure whether or not he was the one pushing her into her room and down on to her bed or whether she was pulling him along by his collar and throwing him on to the bed.

Sherlock found Molly straddled to him, the hem of her dress pulled up over her hips as he sat up on the bed.

She nearly pulled all of the buttons off his shirt as she ripped his tight white shirt off. Why were they always tight? It drove her crazy.

Sherlock's hands roamed Molly's back as she threw his shirt on the ground, and began to kiss his neck and low sunken collarbone. He found what he was looking for as he found the zip on the back of her dress, Sherlock attempts to unzip it were futile as it wouldn't budge under his command. He felt the curves of Molly's lips shift into a smile against his skin. She got up, shifted her weight away off him and faced her back to him for a better angle.

That was better, he was able to easily glide the zip down and slowly reveal Molly's smooth and creamy back. Molly pulled her dress off over her head and turned to face Sherlock again, a devious look on her face.

Sherlock grinned and she fell onto the bed, her head hitting the soft but wrong side of the bed. Molly had already hooked one hand behind her back and undid her bra, she let it fall loosely off her shoulders. Sherlock brushed the white lacy straps off her shoulders, letting the bra down to her stomach before he threw it on to the floor along with the dress, and his shirt.

She felt him hard against her inner thigh.

"You know Molly" He purred into ear, "I can't in all good conscious go any further than this with a to be married woman" Before Molly could protest he had already slipped his hand into Molly's.

Sherlock started to fiddle with her old engagement ring, it's shine dull in compassion to Sherlock's spark. Without breaking any eye contact he dipped his head down and twirled his tongue around the ring and began to twist and glide the ring right off her finger. He spun the ring around in his fingers a few times as he cheekily grinned at her. Satisfied that no evidence of Tom remained.

He gave her evil smirk as he threw the ring across the room, not even looking to where it went.

Molly gave a small laugh, still looking Sherlock deep into his eyes an intensely there she only saw whenever 'the game was on'

Sherlock dipped down his head again and began to kiss and nibble at her neck again, her fingers curved into the bare skin on his back. He then gave a curious lick to one of her budding pink nipples, a warm wave of pleasure shook her body as Sherlock started to suckle, lap and kiss her breasts.

She gently pushed Sherlock down on the chest, and he willingly fell back into the covers, a excited look boiling in his eyes. She laid a kiss in the center of his bare chest, then started a small trail of soft butterfly kisses down his chest and down his stomach. Molly could feel Sherlock begin to shiver in anticipation

She unbuckled his belt, Molly looked up at him, he was looking down at her through his eyelashes with a anxious expression on his face. "Molly" he whispered. She pulled her self up, her face meeting his, her long hair tickling his chest. "It's okay Sherlock" She breathed softly, "I'll be gentle-I promise" Sherlock swallowed hard, temporarily losing his voice, he nodded.

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter 2, there is only one more to go.**

**Feel free to review. **


	3. Chapter 3

She gently pushed Sherlock down on the chest, and he willingly fell back into the covers, a excited look boiling in his eyes. She laid a kiss in the centre of his bare chest, then started a small trail of soft butterfly kisses down his chest and down his stomach. Molly could feel Sherlock begin to shiver in anticipation

She unbuckled his belt, Molly looked up at him, he was looking down at her through his eyelashes with a anxious expression on his face. "Molly" he whispered. She pulled her self up, her face meeting his, her long hair tickling his chest. "It's okay Sherlock" She breathed softly, "I'll be gentle-I promise" Sherlock swallowed hard, temporarily losing his voice, he nodded.

* * *

Molly slowly pulled off his belt and let it fall to the floor with a clang, she jimmied his trousers down as he helped her kick them off. Molly slipped her fingers underneath his boxers, tugged them down over his hips and down his legs and threw them somewhere near her bra on the floor.

"Wait Molly" Sherlock suddenly yelled, averting out of his lustful haze, "Condom?"

Molly smiled. "Birth Control" She slipped her hand around his quaking member.

Sherlock's breathing was becoming more ragged with Molly's every touch, his long hands were beginning to tangle into her hair.

She began by gingerly brushing her hand up and down his member, knowing that this a big moment for Sherlock, not just because the odds were that was the first time he had ever been touched by another woman this way.

But for Sherlock to take his defences down, and expose himself in such a vulnerable way, Molly knew that this step was a big deal.

Molly started her pace slowly, giving Sherlock a chance to get used to the new sensations that were electrifying his body, and shooting through her own. Molly watched Sherlock's face carefully with every movement she made. Enjoying the pained expression on his usually so composed and handsome face.

She pinched her right index finger and thumb together and started to apply more force along the tip of his shaft. This caused Sherlock to abrupt a very husky grunt into the air, and buckle further into her hand.

"Molly" Sherlock groaned, his expression tortured.

She rubbed his tip with her thumb using the pre cum as a sufficient lubricant. Sherlock seemed to be doing subconscious thrusting movements with his body.

"Molly" Sherlock panted again, feeling overwhelmed. He knew what his body need, what he needed, and what Molly needed for him to do.

"Molly _please_" he begged,

Molly quietly laughed, "Please what? What do you want me to do?" She teased.

"You know what" Sherlock said some what irritably, in true Sherlock style.

Molly nodded, stopped, pulled herself up the bed to Sherlocks level and looked him straight in the eyes. His stormy eyes looked back at her, terrified, but also very longing and her own warm brown eyes sparkled back him, afraid but wanting too.

Molly placed her hands on either side of Sherlock's head, causing her hair to sweep onto Sherlock's chest and shoulders again.

"Are you ready?" She whispered softly to him. Sherlock swallowed hard and craned his neck so his lips would meet hers in a quick, pressed lipped kiss.

"Yes" he replied, his voice laced with nerves.

Molly adjusted herself to her hips hovering just above Sherlock's, his erected member, twitched in anticipation and she could feel his hardness against her bare thigh and knew that she didn't want to wait anymore either.

To the hell with waiting, she'd been waiting for years for this moment.

Molly slowly lowered herself upon him, she admitted a sharp in take of breath as their two members made initial contact. Once she had adjusted herself to his size she buried herself into his neck and planted a kiss there.

"Go whenever you are ready" she murmured into his ear.

Sherlock was so ready.

So, so ready.

But he still wasn't one hindered percent sure of what to do next, I mean sure he knew the mechanics of it, but in a real life situation that's not really goanna cut it.

Molly, seemingly knowledgeable of Sherlock's current predicament leaned again into him: "Sherlock, do whatever feels and comes naturally to you.

And that's all he needed to hear.

With those sweet words of encouragement Sherlock began to thrust upwards into the beautiful woman above him.

Sure he didn't know exactly the right way to thrust into a woman and meet her strides, but she seemed to be enjoying it.

Her small breasts, still slightly bruised from Sherlock from before were starting to move backwards and forwards, Sherlock decided that he liked this so much that he would really like a better view.

Sherlock leaned forwarded and Molly leaned back so that she was sitting on Sherlock's hips, Sherlock grabbed Molly by hers and eagerly pushed her further onto him. And Sherlock started to thrust into her again, this time meeting her own.

He could not get over how unbelievably sexy she was, with her little, rosy, breasts bouncing and her light hair waved down her back as she tossed her head back in pleasure as he moved within her.

She was so tight and so wet.

Sherlock felt himself nearing his end already, apart of him wanted to bury himself further explode within her. But then another part wanted to stay like this with her forever, forever connected to her, and to never let go.

Molly had never felt quite like this before, she had never had such emotional and physical intimacy before and especially because it was Sherlock Holmes it put so much more sexiness and allure into the situational. She worried that maybe her judgement was too impaired by the consummation of alcohol, but she reasoned.

This felt so right.

Sherlock was panting her name, and was whispering sweet nothings into the air.

And with that, letting her mind rid of doubt, even if for a second.

She let herself go with her climax.

Sherlock felt her clenched around him and that was all he needed to drive him over the edge that he had been begging for.

He held her tight as his orgasm shook through him.

* * *

Molly collapsed down to his side, panting, beads of sweat pooling on her forehead and breasts. Sherlock wiped at the own moisture beading on his forehead. He looked over at Molly, her nipples still hard, and a smile on her face.

A smile that he don't think he had ever seen before.

He was smiling back at her with a smile he doesn't ever remember having before.

Molly snuggled into the crook of his shoulder and placed her hand on his bare chest, she fell asleep instantly by the looks of her slow and calm breathing.

Her face seemed so peaceful and content, as he watched her sleeping. Her features looking sharp under the dark blue night light. Sherlock looked over her alarm clock on her bedside table, it read 4:30 am, no wonder she was tired, it had afterall been a long day for the both of them.

Then the memories of before he came to Molly's flat came flooding back, the guilt and shame over came him as he remembered his actions this evening.

John would be angry and what would Mary say? To be associated with a druggie like him was so below them it made him want to cringe.

But what about Molly?

He had just put her in a dangerous position by having sex with her, dangerous because she had let her barriers down and let him in. Which secretly what was he always wanted, he always wanted to Molly to give herself to him and for him to give himself to Molly.

Then why did he feel so awful?

As he watched the iron willed woman sleep peacefully next to him, he just wanted nothing more than for to her to have the very best things in the world thrown to her. Molly was sweet, intelligent and didn't take anybody's shit, even Sherlocks.

And he_ loved_ it.

He loved every minute of it.

He loved the way Molly's hair would swing side to side when she entered a room.

He loved the way Molly, even after being a pathologist for nearly ten years she couldn't out on her rubber gloves properly.

He loved the way she had to go through every key on her key chain before she found the one she wanted, it was annoying but he digged it anyway, because it was just so her.

He loved her far fetched theories and assumptions and jokes about the deceased that were bought through Bart's morgue.

He loved the way she lit up the whole room whenever she walked in.

He loved _he_r, because she _deserved_ to be loved.

* * *

_You're wrong you know?_

_You do count._

_You've always counted and I've always trusted you._

_But you were right._

_I'm not okay._

* * *

Golden sun rays splashed inside Molly's room, leaving streaks of warm light across the sleeping occupants of her bed.

One ray of sunshine found itself streaking past Sherlock's eye level, he began to blink spasmodically, sunlight getting into his eyes.

Sherlock moaned, not wanting to wake up or move, he cuddled further into to Molly, breathing in her scent, Molly smelled like her vanilla and fairy body mist.

_Molly!?_

Sherlock's eyes flew open and he quickly sat up in the bed, he looked to the sleeping, naked form of his friend beside him.

His eyes widened, bewildered for a moment, but then the memories of the previous night came flooding back to him.

The memory of his bare skin against hers, he thrashing on top of him.

The cheeky smiles, the laughter.

He felt sick.

How could he have done this? How could he put Molly in position like this?

He resisted the urge vomit,

He was withdrawing.

And he needed another fix.

He laid back down on the bed next to her, and carefully, so he wouldn't wake her. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled in close, a morning breeze had started to pick up, through the open windows.

The curtains rippled easily through the breeze. Windows Sherlock had honestly not noticed before, his mind occupied with other things...

He stayed like this for a while, drinking in every detail of Molly's restful slumber, every freckle, every strand of hair loose over face and how warm she felt and how she fitted perfectly in his arms.

He laid a gentle kiss on her shoulder.

Sherlock gently rolled her over so that he was now off the bed and she took most of space of the bed up. He began to quietly dress himself, giving her sideway glances, anxious that she would wake up.

He didn't want a confrontation, he was far too cowardly for that.

After he had tied his scarf around his neck, remembering with a small smile Molly's comment about always wanting to take it off.

He leaned down to her and kissed her softly.

He didn't want to leave

But he did.

* * *

Molly awoke to the sound of footsteps going through her flat and down her front steps.

She groaned, the footsteps banging in her head ten times louder than usual.

Hung-over as all hell, her mouth tasted icky and her head felt hot and feverish, Molly grasped at the sheets expecting someone to be there.

But there was just empty space.

She pulled herself out of bed, wrapping herself in her sheet, she ran over to her window and threw it further open.

And there he was tall dark figure and all, walking out of her flat and down the street, his coat flipping coolly behind him.

Many emotions struck Molly has she watched him walking away, flipping up his collar.

She tore her eyes away from Sherlock's retreating form.

She swallowed hard, a painful lump beginning to form in her throat.

Molly felt nauseous, her head thumping painfully, she sighed and made her way to her kitchen to have glass of water and make herself her hung-over remedy.

As Molly walked around her flat, glass in hand, looking at the evidence scattered around the room: broken glass, Tom's tie on the table, and her's and Sherlock's wine glasses on the coffee table.

She sat down on her armchair, now in her dressing gown, with Toby curled up in her lap, drinking her remedy with two hands on the cup.

She wondered if they would ever acknowledge that this happened, she can't say that she was surprised that Sherlock didn't stay, but still the sinking feeling in her stomach was telling her otherwise...

Tears began to well.

She felt the lightness of her hand where her engagement ring had previously nested on and a spark of anger shot through her.

She knew that Sherlock cared for her, in his own unique way but she still had to give Tom his ring back...now where the devil did it go?

She was going to have a hard time resisting the urge to slap Sherlock the next time she saw him, whenever that was.

* * *

**AN/** I live for the slapping I swear, okay so that's the end! This is honestly the first smut I've ever written so I wasn't sure how to do it.

I hope you guys enjoyed and thanks for the reviews and I look forward to feedback!


End file.
